


Council Meetings

by FlightOfInsanity



Series: A Pair of Idiots [3]
Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Forerunners, M/M, and Juridicals start shit just by existing, in which Builders are very crabby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 20:09:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6822214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlightOfInsanity/pseuds/FlightOfInsanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone is unhappy and Splendid Dust makes it worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Council Meetings

“Sit down! You didn’t do anything to prevent this mess. You don’t get to show up out of nowhere and have a say in this.”

“And you do? The rate who _caused_ this mess?”

“The Builders did no such thing.”

“Really? Then who was it that handed our enemy a Metarch _and_ a Halo, hmm? Because it certainly wasn’t a Juridical.”

“You _insolent_ –”

Splendid Dust buried his face in his hands as the room devolved into chaos.

This was the fifth attempt they’d made to have a civil discussion of their future and it was not going well. They’d made some progress in the last session – the shouting had been kept to a minimum and no one had outright insulted anyone else – and he had hoped this meeting would be even better.

They’d decided to try doing small sessions – a handful of representatives from all rates and statuses at a single table. Discussions so far had been mostly small-talk and hadn’t even touched on politics yet. Each representative was trying to get a feel for the others, trying to get comfortable with the new setting, and it had been showing promise.

But then the Juridical had shown up. They knew a few of them had made it to Bastion, but so far they’d all been keeping to their code of non-interference. Apparently they decided it was time to change that, making their presence known at the Council meeting for the first time in… ever, he supposed. It _shouldn’t_ have been a problem and the new Council was intended to serve everyone, so this should have been a positive development.

Should have been.

Splendid Dust dropped his hands to the table and turned a pleading look to the Promethean to his left. The Didact merely looked back, his face a strange blend of amusement, exasperation, and “I told you so.”

So much for help on that front.

He sighed and closed his eyes, praying something would go right for once. “If you could all please just take a–”

There was a crash, a startled yelp, and a beat of ominous silence that seemed to freeze time. The Juridical started shouting – a string of colorful and morbidly creative Jagon obscenities, obviously directed at the Builder who had apparently thrown something across the table – and the illusion shattered.

Splendid Dust looked up in time to see the two attempting to fight with each other across the table, being restrained only by their reluctant neighbors.

_That’s it._

“Listen!” He shouted, slamming a palm into the table as he stood up, issuing an order to Bastion’s Metarch to lock the Council members in place. With a faint flash of gold, everyone suddenly found themselves lightly restrained in their seats.

All eyes turned to him and he realized he had no idea what he was going to say. He was tired and frustrated and had just wanted the shouting to stop.

“Can we please just have one meeting where everyone behaves like civilized beings? Stop insulting each other. Stop pointing fingers. What’s done is done and acting like [dirt beasts] won’t help anything.”

The room went cold, time seeming to slow to a crawl again, and he could see Chant suddenly glaring a warning at him from the corner of his eye.

Had he just insulted the entire room? Yes. Yes he had.

Had he just made everything worse? Probably. It seemed to be the running theme of his life now.

“Release me, _child_ ,” the angry Builder growled. “Or so help me I will–”

Dust waved a hand in a sudden outward thrust and everyone vanished, transported away by the Metarch to their respective terminals. Chant slapped a hand over her eyes; if there was one thing more insulting than calling the entire audience a degrading name it was forcibly transporting them out of the room.

“That went well,” the Didact deadpanned.

Dust dropped into his chair, planted his elbows on the table and pushed his palms into his eyes until he saw stars and his armor warned of potential injury. He ignored it.

“What am I doing wrong?”

“Banishing everyone, for starters.”

“ _Bornstellar._ ”

Chant gave a gentle tug on his shoulder, pulling him away from his hands. He dropped them to the table again and stared down, blinking the spots out of his vision.

“I don’t think you’re doing anything wrong,” she said. “Everyone is stressed and nerves are frayed and I think they’re looking for something familiar and getting frustrated when they can’t find it.”

“Chant’s right,” the Didact added, no longer needling. “The ones who were involved in the Council before especially. They were accustomed to dealing with a certain leadership – the Master Builder, the Librarian, the Dida– the _Ur_ -Didact. They look at you and expect the Master Builder and you’re… not.”

Dust’s face twisted into a grimace. He certainly hoped he wasn’t the Master Builder. Hopefully he’d never fall that far into power.

He hummed idly and asked, “We were making progress though, right? Before today, I mean.”

“I think so,” Chant said. “The Juridical was a surprise, though. And Builders don’t like surprises.”

She sounded teasing, but it was true enough. Builders liked their schedules and routines and tended to get upset when things went too wildly off-plan.

He took a deep breath. He wasn’t quite at peace, but he felt considerably less like he wanted to fling himself into deep space. Even if everyone else hated him, at least he had two people he could count on. One of whom was conveniently large enough to use as a living shield if he needed to hide.

Remembering he had an (occasionally irritable) Promethean shield boosted his confidence enough that one side of his mouth ticked up in a brief smile.

“If a Juridical showing up is enough to instigate a fist fight,” he started, “here’s hoping no one – specifically me – gets stabbed when we finally bring up our plans for the rates.”

“ _Your_ plans,” his companions corrected, almost simultaneously. The cowards.

“ ** _Our_** plans.”

 


End file.
